


V. Rodenmaar, On The Rocks

by crocs



Category: House of Anubis
Genre: Dinner Parties, Drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocs/pseuds/crocs
Summary: Every month or so, the Secret Society convenes to ponder the Elixir of Life. Two weeks later, they convene to drink profusely and generally bitch about their leader's antics. This is a story about the beginning of one of those meetings. (Set early to Mid-S1.)





	V. Rodenmaar, On The Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Make no mistake — Daphne Andrews is most certainly _not_ drunk. Tipsy, maybe, but not drunk. She would not deign to get drunk on the boxed wine that Eric bought from Tesco’s for the last meeting. She has standards.

Daphne swishes the red around in her mouth like mouthwash, imagining it's the 2004 Bordeaux she still has somewhere in her own cellar. Good year. She stares dully into the reflection of herself in the glass.

In the corner, Eric puts a jazz vinyl on the record player. It's quite loud, and the needle jumps over scratches at the oddest moments. By now, Daphne knows each track off by heart. The first three songs are ingrained in her memory; Fly Me to The Moon, followed by Julie London's Cry Me A River, followed by Mack The Knife. Eric Sweet is, among other things, not a big fan of the jazz movement. The record was a Christmas present — a son in America, she gathers. Nevertheless, she herself enjoys it very, very much.

Almost as much as she's enjoying watching the face of the newest recruit to their society as Esther Robinson, already quite sloshed, tries to explain exactly what's going on to him. She's had two Margaritas. It's going… well.

"But if Victor's not here," puzzles out Jason, "why are we talking about him?"

Esther leans too close into his personal space. Daphne covers a grin with her wine glass. "Because he's a complete and utter _bastard_ , Winkler," she says, and her voice sounds like it's trying out his name for the first time. "Because he's a melodramatic, coat swishing —" she accidentally tips some of her third drink into his lap — "oops, sorry."

"Egomaniac," Delia finishes for her. Esther does a mock toast in the air.

Sergeant Roebuck toasts back. "Thank you for hosting us tonight, by the way, Delia."

Delia smiles shyly.

Daphne refuses to roll her eyes as hard as she wants to for fear of possibly straining them and catches Eric’s eye as she decides to attempt it anyway. His eyebrows notch slightly upwards. It's their universal signal for _I thought we left the hormones at school, eh?_ Daphne does it back. He breaks away first, snorting into his own glass.

"It's always a pleasure, Nicholas," Delia replies coquettishly, and then coughs. "Um, everyone."

Frederick Mercer, in Delia's lounge room only by Skype call, booms from Eric's laptop's speakers. "Has anyone got any new stories?" He asks brusquely.  "I'll start. Last week, Victor asked me about the stock market. You know, if he should invest in anything for the future."

Jason takes a sip from his bottle of beer. "Well, you're in accounts, aren't you?"

Even from across the room, Daphne can feel the sheer force of the sigh emanating from the computer.

"After forty three minutes of trying to purchase him some start up company stock, it turned out that what he was talking about was possibly manning a stand down in the town market on Wednesday. What to sell. For the most money. I wanted to opt out of the Elixir so I could die at that moment."

There's silence.

And then Esther cackles.

"Drink!" She orders, slapping Jason on the back hard as she shotguns her drink. Eric glugs down his wine obediently. Daphne fakes a small sip. She's got the entire night to make this last, and make it count.

"Ooh, ooh, I have a good one," says Nicholas, coughing through the alcohol straining his throat. "Monday night, okay? I'm on duty. Life's good at the station. Blah blah blah. Anyway, Victor rings my work phone."

Groans start pre-emptively.

" _Never_ give Victor your work extension," says Delia. Daphne knows she's speaking from experience. "Or your pager number. I can't remember _how_ many times he's contacted me at the hospital —"

Nicholas raises his hands in surrender. "I know, I know. Rookie mistake."

Jason gulps from his seat and pulls his shirt collar away from his neck.

The sergeant continues, leaning back. "So I answer the phone, and I'm like, _Sergeant Roebuck._ And he's saying, yeah, yeah, there's gonna be a Secret Society meeting next week, bring your cloak, whatever. He hangs up. And all I’m thinking is that my bosses monitor the phone lines as a precaution. How the hell am I going to explain the Society to them without them thinking I'm in a cult?" Nicholas's shoulders slump. "And that's not even mentioning his incessant requests that I come to Anubis House and search the rooms for his stolen riddle clues, or whatever. Like I don't know he already does that himself."

Daphne raises her glass as high as it will go. "And we drink."

"Yes, we do," says Eric. He leans over to the coffee table, places his own glass under the tap of the boxed wine and refills it. "More drink, Daphne?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Who's next, then? Eric?" asks Nicholas.

Frederick's eyebrows furrow on the computer screen. "We were going around the circle, weren't we?"

"I'm sat opposite you, Fred."

Daphne sighs and leans slightly into Eric's side on the sofa. Reflexively, his arm reaches out and curls around her shoulder, bringing her close. She ignores Esther's giggles from her left and leans in further.

"Fuck it," says Jason, and chugs his beer before saying, "if I wasn't already dying, I wouldn't even talk to Victor. He does my head in. Last Tuesday he walked into the drama department and demanded that I patch up his coat pocket for him, because — quote on quote — _the students may take advantage and take what falls out._ I'm not actually in fucking costuming, but I do it anyway.

"Next thing I know, he's coming to me for every single clothing mishap ever. He's, like, latched onto me or something. Whatever." He takes another gulp of his beer, finishing it off. "Personally, I just think he needs to get laid."

Daphne starts clapping slowly, followed by the rest of the Victor-absent Society. Jason's face contorts further, confused at the applause.

Esther coughs gruesomely, then starts her Yoda impression by hopping into a crouch on the chair with no effort. "Started your journey in the Secret Society, you have," she croaks. "Step one: Acknowledge that Victor Rodenmaar needs to get in an actual relationship, pronto. And not with that bloody stuffed bird."

Delia giggles, "Good job, Newbie."

Frederick hums approvingly.

"Jesus Christ, you all do," says Jason wearily. He uncaps a new bottle of beer, using Delia's coffee table as an opener. " _'Good company, good wine, good welcome can make good people',_  right?"

Daphne smiles and lays her head on Eric's shoulder. _Yeah, he'll fit in just fine,_ she thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Jason Winkler's quote, 'Good company, good wine, good welcome can make good people', is from Act 1, Scene 4 of Shakespeare's Henry VIII. The title, of course, is a reference to the bartending terminology of liquor being served on ice cubes — _on the rocks_. Thanks for reading!


End file.
